X Wing Drabbles
by LoryLynn1186
Summary: A collection of drabbles containing everyone's favorite band of pilots. Various genres and ratings.
1. 1: Mission Parameters

**The X-Wing Drabbles  
A/N: Hello loyal readers! This is probably one of my favorite ongoing projects. Essentially it's a compilation of drabbles about my favorite pilots from Rogue and Wraith Squadrons (because frankly they don't get enough love!) Enjoy and be sure to let me know what you think.**

**Mission Parameters **(Corran/Mirax, Wedge, Tycho)

* * *

_41 ABY, Corellia_

By the time Wedge and Tycho showed up at his door, Corran was already on his third glass of Corellian whiskey. He led them into the living room where he reclaimed his seat on the couch.

"We came as soon as we heard," Wedge said.

Corran nodded. "I don't think it's hit me quite yet."

Tycho leaned forward, his elbows resting against his thighs, graying blonde hair falling in his eyes. "Corran, it's not the end of the world."

The former Corsec agent huffed. "How would you know? You've never dealt with this before."

"But I have," the older Corellian argued. "So believe me when I tell you that this is not the end."

A look of fierce determination flashed in Corran's eyes. "You're right." He threw back the remainder of the whiskey and slammed the glass down on the table. "I've got to do something. I can stop this."

"I don't think that's what the General had in mind," Tycho sighed.

"No he's right," Corran began pacing the living room, heedless of the others. "I've got to make some calls. I need reinforcements. Call Hobbie…and Wes! His expertise will be vital for this mission."

"And what exactly are the parameters of this mission?" Wedge asked. He hoped the sarcasm would help his friends see how ridiculous he was being.

"It's very simple, gentlemen. Find the enemy, isolate him, and destroy him."

"Corran Horn!" Three heads snapped up. "You are unbelievable. And you two should know better than to egg him on."

"We weren't," Wedge argued.

"Mirax, I have to do something. I can't just sit by while things change around me."

Mirax Terrik Horn rolled her eyes, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. "Corran, whether you like it or not, Jysella is getting married. Get over it."


	2. 2: Face's Faces

**Face's Faces **(Kell/Tyria, Face Loran)

* * *

_7 ABY, Coruscant _

It was a rare opportunity that Wraith Squadron had any sort of down time between missions. And while most pilots would take that time to catch up on their sleep or raise a glass to those who didn't come back, Kell Tainer was spending his time catching up on missed workouts.

His feet pounded against the treadmill, his breathing becoming more and more labored. He looked to his left where his squadron-mate and girlfriend, Tyria Sarkin, was keeping pace with him. She smiled at him and increased her speed. Kell noted the hint of a challenge behind that smile and boosted his own speed to match hers.

"Having trouble keeping pace?" she laughed.

It annoyed him slightly that she was barely panting, but what else could one expect from an Antarian Ranger?

"I'm fine," he said. He watched her for a moment, admiring the way her clothes clung to the curves of her body, the way her long blonde hair swung back and forth with every step she took, the fine sheen of sweat that formed along her brow. Eventually he shook his head and looked away; thoughts like that would lead his mind to other places and while he didn't mind thinking about such things, it could lead to a rather embarrassing situation if dwelt upon for too long.

Seeking a distraction, his eyes bounced around the small gym. There were a handful of pilots working out on several of the machines scattered around the room, most of which were unfamiliar to Kell. Luckily there was one all too recognizable face in the crowd.

Garik "Face" Loran stood on the opposite side of the room, wrapping his hands with tape as he prepared to lift some weights. Kell watched as he dialed the weight on that dumbbell up to 20 kilos and lifted it almost effortlessly. After a few sets, Face replaced the dumbbell, dialed up the weight to 30 kilos, and started again.

Kell was impressed. Face didn't even look like he was straining to lift the weight, just bobbing his head to the music pumping from his ear buds. He seemed as perfectly poised as always.

Until you looked at his face.

Kell had to work very hard to not laugh out loud as he watched the muscles in Face's face twitch and move. His eyes were twice their normal size and focused intently on the mirror in front of him. The faces Loran was making could only be described as astronomically comical. At one point he cocked his right eyebrow and leered at his own reflection making "come hither" eyes.

It was all too much for Kell who stumbled slightly when he hit the point where his laughter could no longer be contained.

"What's wrong?" Tyria asked.

Kell shook his head. "Watch Face," he nodded discreetly toward their friend.

Tyria turned her head and watched Loran closely. She was about to ask Kell what she was looking for when Face's lips curled back, his teeth grinding together. His eyebrows knit together over harsh looking eyes and a guttural sound erupted from low in his throat.

"Did he just growl?" she whispered, but Kell was laughing too hard to answer her. Tyria slowed her speed to a jog so she wouldn't fall off the treadmill as the giggles overcame her. Beside her Kell slowed and eventually climbed off his machine, wiping the tears from his eyes. Tyria followed suit. The pair quickly slipped out of the gym and headed back toward their rooms.

"I can't believe he was growling," she laughed.

"You missed the expression before that," Kell told her. "I think he was hitting on himself in the mirror."

Tyria's laughter echoed around the corridor. Had anyone else been in that particular hallway, they would surely be questioning her sanity. Tyria grabbed Kell's hand as they rounded the corner toward their quarters and pulled him toward her own door. "C'mon Tainer."

"I really need a shower," he said.

"Me too," she purred. "We'll share. I bet I can get you to make a few faces too."


	3. 3: Designations

**Designations** (Wedge/Iella)

* * *

_17 ABY, Coruscant_

As a pilot for the New Republic military, Wedge Antilles had seen a lot of things, been to more planets than he ever dreamed possible, and had one of the most impressive kill records of any squadron. He had led two elite fighter squadrons before his thirtieth lifeday and was promoted to New Republic General soon after. Eventually he had gathered the gumption to romance and marry Iella Wessiri and for once he had a life outside of the military.

Yes, Wedge Antilles had led a fairly remarkable life by any and all standards. But even all those experiences could not prepare Wedge for his biggest undertaking yet.

"Pregnant?" He stared at the little disk in his palm with the little yellow plus sign blinking brightly. "A-are you sure?"

Iella nodded, her eyes red rimmed no doubt from her prior fits of hysteria. To say that the pregnancy was unplanned would be like saying that Palpatine wasn't a nice person.

Wedge dropped onto the couch, his attention still riveted on the test in his hand. "How did this happen?"

"Do you need a diagram?" Iella laughed and sat next to him, taking comfort as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Remember a few weeks ago, after Tycho and Winter's wedding?"

Even in such a serious situation, Wedge was hard fought to keep the smirk off his face. Both he and Iella had consumed a large amount of alcohol at the Celchu's wedding reception so their friends stuffed them into a taxi and bid them goodnight. The ride back to their apartment building didn't take long and it was all Wedge could do to keep his hands to himself. That didn't mean that his wife had the same control. They'd stumbled in their front door and didn't bother to enter the apartment any farther before becoming tangled up in one another. And the entryway had been only the beginning. Given their rather inebriated status, it wasn't shocking that neither had thought to use some form of protection. The following day, once the alcohol had been purged from their systems and common sense could once again take its rightful place, they had discussed it. Iella was certain that she was at a point in her cycle that would make the chance of conception slim.

Apparently she was wrong.

"I remember," Wedge answered her. "So uh…which time do you think it was?"

Iella swatted his stomach playfully but didn't bother to hide the smile on her face. It had been a great night, but even the best of times have their consequences. "I'm betting it was in the kitchen."

Wedge chuckled. "Not the shower?" Iella shook her head. "Or the bedroom?"

"Nope. Definitely in the kitchen." A comfortable silence settled over them, giving each a few moments to consider the situation fully. "So what do we do now?"

Wedge tightened his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I guess we have a baby." The smile on her face and the release of tension in her muscles told Wedge that was exactly what she had wanted to hear.

Wedge Antilles had gone by many names in his life: Rogue 2, Wraith Leader, General, husband, friend, and many more. But now he faced his biggest challenge yet and with it came a new designation: father.


	4. 4: That Which Ails You

**That Which Ails You** (Wedge, Garik "Face" Loran, Wes Janson)

* * *

_7.5 ABY, Mon Remonda_

Wedge stood outside the door listening to the sounds of anguish echoing from within. On the opposite side of the door, Brevet Captain Face Loran leaned against the wall scratching at his fingernails and sighing every few seconds.

"How do you want to approach this?" Wedge asked.

Face shrugged. "I've always thought that honesty was the best policy." At his CO's raised brow, the one-time holostar smirked. "If you coddle him, it will only make matters worse. We treat this like a bacta patch: one swift rip."

Wedge nodded mutely, his arms crossed over his chest, a large sack slung over his shoulder. This was Commander Antilles, not just Wedge.

"One last thing. Is it really necessary for both of us to be here?" Face asked.

Wedge leveled him with a strong gaze and nodded. "He's as much your responsibility as he is mine."

Face fought the urge to roll his eyes as he brought himself to stand upright in front of the door. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for what lay ahead. "All right, let's do this."

The metal door slid aside allowing a shaft of light to enter before them, but it did little to illuminate dim room. They could see the bunk against the far wall, a lumpy mass atop it, and various items scattered around the floor beneath it. A guttural moan echoed from said lump causing both men to pause their steps.

"Wes?"

There was no discernable answer in any language that either Wedge or Face recognized, just another sad, pathetic moan.

"Wes, we need to talk to you," Face said. He pulled a chair over from the corner and sat backward on it, his chest resting against the chair's back.

The blankets were thrown backward and suddenly Wes's head appeared, his hair sticking up in every which way. He leveled each pilot with a hard stare before taking a deep breath. "Go ahead. What's my diagnosis?"

"You have—"

"It's the Candorian plague isn't it?" Wes interrupted.

Face looked at Wedge, silently begging for help. "It's not the Candorian plague."

"Oh no, it's the Gray Death isn't it? I knew it."

"Are you a Yevetha?" Wedge asked to which Wes slowly shook his head. "Then you could not have possibly contracted that particular disease."

"Quannot's Syndrome?"

"Wes—"

"Sweet Force," his voice was laden with anxiety. "It's Nebellia isn't it?"

"Wes—"

"I knew it. I'm dying. It wasn't supposed to end like this. I'm supposed to go out in a blaze of glory, not this way. I can't—"

"LIEUTENANT JANSON!" Wedge's bellow stopped Wes in his tracks and drew both men's attention.

"Yes, sir?"

"You have the Dantari flu. You'll be fine in a day or two." He stepped toward the bed, the forgotten satchel in his hand. He reached inside and pulled out a large, furry object and tossed it onto Wes's bed.

"Lieutenant Kettch?"

"He's here to nurse you back to health," Wedge grinned. "Yub yub Lieutenant."


	5. 5: Like Father, Like Son

**Like Father, Like** **Son **(Corran/Mirax, Horn family fluff)

* * *

17 ABY, Coruscant

He could handle this; he was a Jedi after all. Mirax would be home shortly—having been called out by Iella for some sort of emergency at NRI headquarters—and until she returned, he was on his own. So with a deep breath, Corran Horn faced the scene quickly unfolding in his living room.

Valin took a deep breath—his father braced himself—and let out a blood curdling scream. "Mine!"

For her part, Jysella looked nonplussed but merely continued to chew on the creature's fluffy ear, her saliva soaking into the fabric and stuffing.

"Valin, there's no need to yell," Corran tried to reason with the four year old to no avail.

"Mine! Give back, Sella!"

"Valin—"

"Mine!" As if sensing that his father would do nothing to solve the issue, Valin walked over to his sister who toddled on unsteady legs, and snatched the toy back. Then for good measure, he planted his hand against her breastbone and pushed her down.

Tears sprung to Jysella's eyes, who at barely a year old could not comprehend why her brother was being so mean.

"Valin Horn!" Now Corran was mad. "There is no reason to push your sister. On the couch, now."

With a furious stomp of his foot, Valin climbed onto the couch, crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. Corran gathered his daughter into his arms and eventually managed to calm her hysterics. Glancing at the chrono on the wall, he realized that while it was a little early for nap time, it would make Valin's little tantrum easier to deal with. "You ready for a nap, baby girl?" He took Jysella back to the nursery, tucked her in with her favorite pink blanket, kissed her head and shut the door.

Valin was still pouting when he returned to the living room, but at least now he looked a bit pensive as well.

"Now, do you know why you're on time out?"

The boy clutched the stuffed animal closer to his chest. "Sella tooked Woolywur," he grumbled.

For some reason that name sounded familiar, but Corran brushed it off. If it were really important he would remember eventually. "But did you need to push her down?" Valin shook his head. "Then why did you?"

"She tooked Woolywur!" he repeated.

Corran sighed. Obviously his son was very attached to this toy but he had no idea why. "Valin, can I see Woolywur?" The boy still appeared a bit wary but his father coaxed further. "I just want to make sure Sella didn't hurt him too much."

"She. Woolywur's a girl!" With great reluctance, Valin handed the stuffed animal to his father.

Corran took it in his hands, flipped the toy over and studied the creature. Brown fur covered its body from the head down to the short tail with white fur covering its stomach and stretching up its neck and beneath the snout. The longer he studied the animal, the harder the nagging became that he knew something about it.

He handed the stuffed animal back to his son who greedily accepted it and hugged it close to his chest. "Where did Woolywur come from?" Corran asked.

"Unca Wes."

_Wes? Why would Wes Janson give my son a stuffed animal?_ He knew there had to be a sinister reasoning behind it. "When did you get it?"

"Lifeday."

_Okay…Valin's lifeday was five months ago. Mirax was so mad I almost missed his party but it wasn't my fault the Rogues got stuck on Corellia._ And then it hit him. Now he understood why the creature looked so familiar. There were five planets in the Corellian system: Corellia, Tralus, Talus, Drall and, of course, Selonia. The stuffed toy wasn't an animal at all; it was a Selonian—albeit a rather poor representation of one. And there was only one reason that Wes Janson would be giving his son a stuffed Selonian.

Obviously the man had a death wish.

"Valin, did you name Woolywur or did Uncle Wes?" Corran asked.

The boy didn't bother to look up at his father. "Unca Wes named her Woolywur."

And that settled it; Wes Janson was a dead man. All the Rogues—or most of them anyhow—knew of Corran's past dalliance with a Selonian by the name of Chertyl Ruluwoor, who at one point had been serving with Corran's CorSec unit. It had been a brief affair and completely unremarkable, save for the fact that it had been an interspecies romance which—while not frowned upon—was still unusual.

Corran shook his head and watched his son cuddle the animal to his body and yawn. Apparently Jysella was not the only one worn out by situation. "You ready for a nap?

"Too old for naps," Valin argued, fighting the next yawn.

Corran smiled warmly; that was Mirax's stubbornness shining through. "How about we watch a holofilm then?" Valin nodded tiredly and waited for his father to find the right disk and start the player. He retook his seat on the armchair and let the dancing cartoon distract his thoughts.

He was still sitting on that chair an hour later when Mirax returned home. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek fondly. "How were they?"

"Fine," he whispered. His eyes were still glued to where his son had fallen asleep on the couch, Woolywur hidden half beneath his body.

"What's wrong?"

_Where to begin?_ Corran wondered. "Do you know the story behind that…toy he has?"

Mirax leaned forward to get a better look at the stuffed animal clutched in her son's arms. "Woolywur? I know the story, do you?"

"I do now."

Her laughter was soft in his ear. "And is Wes still alive?"

Corran turned his head to stare at her incredulously. "You know the whole story, you know what he named it. Is there any reason I should let him live?"

Mirax laughed softly and kissed her husband's lips. "Because Valin loves his _Unca_ Wes," she pointed out.

"And he'll remember him fondly." A short silence stretched between them, each parent watching their son sleep. A small smile graced the boy's lips as his arms tightened around Woolywur, a soft sigh escaping sounding in the stillness. "He really does love that thing doesn't he?"

Mirax nodded. "He's been sleeping with it for the last few weeks. He seems rather taken with it." She pressed her lips to the sensitive spot below her husband's ear, grinning when she felt a shudder run through him.

"Like father, like son."


	6. 6: Native Fashions

**Native Fashions **(Wes, Hobbie)

* * *

_17 ABY, Adumar_

It had been almost five years since their last visit to the planet; it was not an experience that would earn Adumar a spot on the list of favored planets by New Republic pilots on leave, but it certainly did not lack in amusements. After a brief crash course on the intricacies of Adumari culture, Wedge Antilles, Tycho Celchu, Wes Janson, and Hobbie Klivian were thrown head first into a turbulent situation that eventually dissolved into civil war. The newly formed Adumari Union—headed by fearless New Republic pilot Wedge Antilles and assisted by his able bodied team—triumphed over the nation of Cartann, instilled a new Perator, stilted Imperial interest in the planet, and successfully initiated negotiations to bring Adumar into the New Republic.

Not bad for their first solo diplomatic mission.

And now, five years later, Wes and Hobbie found themselves in the Ankus system with a three day leave. Adumar was a short hyperspace jump away—less than half a day's travel—and so the pair packed a few days worth of clothes, filled out the required paperwork, and made their jump toward three days of rest and relaxation.

"Rogue six? Rogue five, come in."

Wes sighed, dropping his head to bang against the seat behind him. They had just dropped out of hyperspace a mere 3 seconds ago, but already he could hear the apprehension in his wingman's voice. "Hobbie, I don't think designations are really necessary when it's just the two of us."

"Old habits," Hobbie rolled his eyes regardless of whether Wes would see the gesture or not. "We're 30 klicks outside the Adumar system. Are you sure we want to go back?"

"Yes I'm sure."

"Because the last time we were here they tried to have us killed—"

"It was an honor killing," Wes argued.

"We had to wear those horrible clothes—"

"I really miss that cape. Hey, maybe I can get another one?"

Hobbie sighed. "And we were forced to fight—and risk our lives for—a civil war in which we had absolutely no stake."

"Ah, but my dour friend, you seem to be forgetting that we were also treated as heroes both before and after those events. So it could have been much worse."

They managed to land in Cartann City with no problems and were even given landing platforms designated for visiting dignitaries at the air force base outside the city as well as transportation to their accommodations.

"Do you think they still use blastswords here or have they upgraded?" Wes asked before dropping onto the overstuffed couch in the seating area that separated their private rooms. Truthfully the rooms were outside of their normal price range, but—as Wes was not opposed to namedropping—they had been upgraded by the hotel management to the diplomatic suite.

"Judging by these brochures, I'd say it's become more of a spectator sport." Hobbie dropped the flimsy on his wing mate's stomach. "You looking to get into another duel?"

Wes laughed, recalling his epic blastsword duel with Thanaer ke Sekae before the Perator of Cartann and the entire court. He had done it to save Cheriss ke Hanadi's life and in turn had earned her gratitude and respect. Her gratitude was something that Wes would rather enjoy to experience a second time.

"I think I've hung up my blastsword for good. This Cartann Ground Champion has since retired," he laughed. "But I wouldn't mind seeing one of these public expos. There's one happening later tonight, you game?"

Hobbie shrugged, impartial to the idea. "Can we get something to eat first? I'm starving."

They found a small tap café frequented by locals and recommended by the hotel staff just down the street. Taking a seat on the outdoor patio, they perused the vast menu for a few minutes before making their decisions and waiting for the server droid to bring their meals around.

Glancing around the patio, Wes took the opportunity to reacquaint himself with the strange and confusing world of Adumari fashion. He was thrilled to see more than one male wearing capes in demur colors but lined with shiny, metallic material—that meant that such garments were still in fashion and would be easy to purchase. That was good news.

The rest of the fashions were just as offensive as he remembered. Colors that normally wouldn't have been put together were now all the rage. One of the caped men was also sporting a red, blue and silver tunic over black pants and boots polished so well the reflection of the evening sun was blinding. As a military man, Wes knew he should be at least a little ashamed of his own boots and their lack of luster.

The hats, however, were a new addition. Seemingly produced solely in pastel colors, the hats covered the wearer's ears completely with long tendrils that extended in some instances to touch a person's shoulders. On top of the head sat a ball about half the size of an average fist, which often bobbed with the wearer's movements.

_What are these people thinking?_ Wes wondered. Thankfully he was spared further contemplation when the server droid arrived with their food. Like starving animals they dove into their meals, swallowing after only the minimum amount of chewing.

"So then I told Myrial that it wasn't my son's fault her daughter was so in love with him."

"I'm sure she had something to say to that."

Wes looked up, the voice just barely registering on the upper cusp of his hearing spectrum, expecting to find some strange alien race at the next table. Instead it was just two middle-aged women in ridiculous outfits, cackling like some sort of avian. And once again, he was amazed at the sheer ridiculousness that was Adumari fashion.

The woman on the left was wearing a shiny purple tunic and pink leggings with an orange swirling pattern. The second woman's outfit was equally as gaudy in clashing reds and blues and on both their heads were those Force-forsaken hats.

But the best part of the outfit was the shoes, made of some odd, synthetic material and festooned in the most garish colors possible. One pair was so pink that even the girliest of girls would think twice, and the second was a swirling mix of orange, red, and yellow. In essence, they were hideous no matter what planet they were on.

"Hobbie…Hobbie, are you seeing this?"

"Seeing what?" he asked around a mouthful of some sort of large, flat noodle dripping in a chunky, green sauce.

"Those two women at that back table, their shoes are absolutely hideous, even by this planet's standards."

Hobbie swallowed and turned his head in the direction his companion had indicated. Beneath the table, hidden from the view of other diner's by a long tablecloth, Wes's foot connected solidly with his shin.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You can't just look over there," Wes explained. "They'll notice."

"Then how am I supposed to see their shoes?"

Wes shrugged. "I don't know. Look at them just don't _look_ at them."

Hobbie rolled his eyes and as inconspicuously as possible let his line of sight drift toward the two women in question. It was difficult to look past the bright colors of their tunics—which on most other planets would be considered clashing, but on Adumar were the height of fashion—but once Hobbie got a glimpse of their feet he could scarcely look away.

"Sweet Force."

"My thoughts exactly." Wes took a large sip of his drink and glanced around at the café's other patrons. None of them seemed to be wearing the hideous footwear, so why did these women decide to punish their feet?

"What are they?" Hobbie asked. Try as he might, he couldn't pull his eyes away from the women's shoes…until Wes kicked him again beneath the table. "Ow…shavit Wes! Knock it off, would ya?"

"Quit staring, you're going to draw attention to us."

"And constantly kicking me won't accomplish the same mission?" Hobbie whined, rubbing at his shin where he was sure a bruise was developing.

"Quit whining and eat. Duel starts in thirty minutes and we still have to get across the city."

The rest of their leave time passed far too quickly for either pilot's taste and before they knew it Wes and Hobbie were on their way back to rendezvous with Rogue Squadron. They met up with the Mon Calamari cruiser in the Ansion system and were directed to one of the ship's numerous docking bays. The rest of Rogue Squadron's X-Wings were there waiting for them.

"Welcome back Major Janson, Major Klivian," Wedge greeted.

Hobbie and Wes stopped before him, throwing up a stiff salute and smiling.

"Wish I could say I was glad to be back, General."

Wedge nodded. "It's always difficult to return to duty after a few days off, but a necessary evil nonetheless. I'll let you both use the last few hours of your leave to settle back in and relax. You're both on patrol starting at 1600." General Antilles saluted his returning pilots, spun on his heel and made for the exit of the hanger, but before he left the cavernous space he stopped and threw one last comment at them.

"Oh and Wes? Loose the cape and whatever in the nine Corellian hells is on your feet!"


	7. 7: The Definition of 'Wizard'

**The Definition of 'Wizard' **(Hobbie/OC, Wes)

* * *

_14 ABY, Coruscant_

"I can't do this."

"Yes, you can." Wes grabbed his friend's shoulders and spun him 180 degrees, giving him a non-too-gentle shove down the hall. "Just remember what we talked about."

"It doesn't matter. She's out of my league," Hobbie cried. "She'll shoot me down faster than Wedge in sims."

"I didn't know that was even possible." While Wes laughed at the joke, Hobbie didn't find it quite so amusing. "Sorry. Listen, you're a member of Rogue Squadron. Women worship us. They fall at our feet."

Hobbie's eyebrows rose skeptically. "How many women are falling at your feet, Janson?"

"That's not important," Wes argued as they entered the hanger bay. A quick scan of the room revealed Flight Office Sira Nyllas standing beside her A Wing, a pair of green coveralls hung around her hips, the sleeves tied as a makeshift belt. The white, sleeveless undershirt she wore was stained with oil and grease what appeared to be several hours of maintenance on her ship.

"There she is," he pointed out. "Now remember what I taught you and you'll be fine."

Hobbie took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds. "Is the comm link really necessary?"

Wes sighed and looked at the tiny device, hidden within the front pocket of the other man's shirt. He had come up with the brilliant plan to give himself front row access to what was sure to be a very amusing situation. He knew he couldn't get close enough to the pair to eavesdrop without being noticed, so the comm link was his way of being in the middle of everything while remaining at a safe distance. "It is for me. Now go!"

He watched Hobbie slink away-his shoulders tensed up with nervous tension as she closed the space between himself and his prey-before making his way toward the opposite end of the hanger. He kept his distance, taking up a hiding spot behind the left wing of a B-Wing. From that vantage point he could see Sira Nyllas a dozen yards away and the nervous Hobbie approaching her.

"Show time," he whispered.

As Hobbie approached the other pilot, she looked up, smiling and pushing a stray piece of auburn hair from her face. "Hey, Klivian. How's it going?"

Hobbie fought the sudden dryness in this mouth, swallowing repetitively. "P-pretty good, Sira. How about you?"

"Can't complain." She shrugged her shoulders and turned her attention back to her fighter. "What can I do for you?"

"It's more about what I can do for you." The moment the words left his lips, Hobbie regretted them. '_Stupid Wes and his kriffing pick-up lines._ _I'll be lucky if she doesn't report me to command for sexual harassment.'_

Sira returned her attention to the man in front of her, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing him suspiciously. He looked so nervous that it was almost funny and she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from actually laughing. A brief debate passed in her mind about whether she should act offended or just roll with the punches. Eventually the first option won out.

"Excuse me?"

Hobbie's expression faltered. "Um…I was just saying…maybe uh…"

"Relax Klivian," Sira finally took mercy on him, "I'm not mad."

"You're not?" She shook her head. "Oh…good. Because I just wanted to ask you if uh…I mean would you like to uh…" He was faltering and he knew it, so he took a deep breath and attempted to calm his racing heart. A sense of serenity washed over him and he decided to run with it, leaning casually against the cart next to him. Unfortunately, that cart came equipped with wheels and as soon as Hobbie's weight pressed against it those wheels became mobile. The cart only slid a few feet, but it was enough to send a few tools clattering to the ground, the sound of durasteel on ferocrete echoing through the hanger and drawing attention from all corners. "Sorry," he apologized, squatting down to pick up a stray hydrospanner.

"What do you have against my tools that you felt the need to throw them around?" Sira laughed.

"Nothing against them," Hobbie stuttered, placing the object back on the tray and steadying the whole apparatus. "They really shouldn't make these things with wheels attached."

Sira nodded, hiding her smirk behind a greasy hand. "It was very thoughtless of them." She turned back to her fighter and once again began tinkering with the port-side quad laser. "Think you can hand me that jumper bypass without hurting yourself?"

Hobbie smiled softly and handed her the tool, letting his fingers brush over her wrist as he did. "There you go."

"Thanks. So Hobbie, what is it that you needed from me?"

"Oh, umm…well I just want to uh…"

"What are you doing, Hobbie?" Wes asked, shaking his head and pressing his palm to his forehead. Thankfully he was standing on the opposite side of the hanger so his confused utterings weren't heard by his subjects. "Be cool, man. Be cool." For a moment, Wes was beginning to think his silent prayers had been answered. Hobbie's muscles which had previously been tensed in nervousness were now slackening, his posture was relaxed. That was good.

"So….flight officer Nyllas," he swallowed hard, the wheels in his brain spinning helplessly to come up with something to say. Something smooth, something good. "Your data pad matches your coveralls. That's pretty wizard."

"What?"

"WHAT?" Wes's guffaw echoed across the cavernous causing several maintenance personal and techs to stop and look at him. His voice dropped noticeably, until it was just barely above a whisper. "Hobbie, what the _kriff_ are you doing?"

"My data pad matches my coveralls?" Sira asked, a small smirk playing at her lips. "Um, yeah…I suppose it does."

"Yeah it's uh…just saying that it's pretty…uhh…"

"Wizard?"

Hobbie fought the blush that rushed up his neck and threatened to overtake his cheeks. His hand rubbed against the back of his neck in a motion that was meant to be soothing, but appeared to be aimed at taking a layer of skin off.

Flight Office Nyllas giggled softly and smiled up at the pilot in front of her. "You're cute."

"I am?"

"He is?"

"Yeah. Look, I'm covered in grease and in need of a shower, but…would you like to join me for dinner tonight?"

"Uh…sure. 1800?"

Sira nodded. "It's a date." She grabbed a spare towel and wiped at her hands before tossing it in a nearby bin. She turned to leave, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder and smirking at the dumbfounded look on Hobbie's face.

"I can't believe that worked." Wes still wore his shocked face when he sidled up beside his partner in crime a few moments later.

Hobbie just shrugged, a gleeful smile tugging at his lips. "What can I say? Some guys are just more wizard than others."


End file.
